It was not in Kamatori’s samurai bones to acknowledge surrender so long as he still stood on his feet. His face underwent a curious change. The mask of hatred and ferocity melted away and his eyes assumed an inward look.
He said, “A samurai takes no honor in defeat. You can cut out a dragon’s tooth, but he grows a thousand more.” Then he snatched the long knife from its sheath and leaped at Pitt.
Pitt, though weak and panting for breath, easily stepped aside and parried the slashing knife. He swung the faithful old saber for the last time and severed Kamatori’s hand at the wrist.
Shock flooded Kamatori’s face, the shock of disbelief, then pain, then the full realization that for the first time in his life he had been subdued by an opponent and was going to die. He stood and glowered at Pitt, his dark eyes filled with uncontrolled rage, the empty wrist hanging by his side, blood streaming to the floor.
“I have dishonored my ancestors. You will please allow me to save face by committing seppuku.”
Pitt’s eyes half closed in curiosity. He looked at Mancuso.
“Seppuku?”
“The accepted and more stylish Japanese term for what we crudely call hara-kiri, which actually translates as belly cutting. He wants you to let him have a ‘happy dispatch.’ “
“I see,” Pitt said, a tired but maddened understanding in his voice. “I see indeed, but it’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get his way. Not with his own hand. Not after all the people he’s murdered in cold blood.”
“My dishonor at having been defeated by a foreigner must be expunged by offering up my life,” Kamatori muttered through clenched teeth, the mesmeric force of kiai quickly fading.
“His friends and family will rejoice,” explained Mancuso. “Honor to him is everything. He considers dying by his own hand beautiful and looks forward to it.”
“God, this is sickening,” murmured Stacy disgustedly as she stared at Kamatori’s hand on the floor. “Tie and gag him. Let’s finish our job and get out of here.”
“You’re going to die, but not as you hope,” said Pitt, staring at the defiant face darkened in hate, the lips drawn back like a dog baring its teeth. But Pitt caught a slight look of fear in the dark eyes, not a fear of dying, but a fear of not joining his ancestors in the prescribed manner of honored tradition.
Before anyone knew what Pitt was about to do, he grabbed Kamatori by the good arm and dragged the samurai into the study containing the antique arms and the gruesome collection of mounted human heads. Carefully, as if he was aligning a painting, he positioned Kamatori and rammed the saber blade through the lower groin, pinning him upright to the wall beneath the heads of his victims.
Kamatori’s eyes were filled with unbelief and the fear of a miserable and shameful end. The pain was there too.
Pitt knew he was looking at a near corpse and got in the last word before the eyes went sightless in death.
“No divine passing for a killer of the helpless. Join your prey and be damned.”
53
PITT REMOVED A Viking battle-axe from its brackets on a wall and returned to the video monitor room. Stacy had already picked the locks on the chains confining Giordino and Mancuso and was working to free Weatherhill.
“What did you do with Kamatori?” Giordino asked, peering curiously around Pitt’s shoulder into the trophy room.
“Mounted him with the rest of his collection.” He handed the axe to Giordino. “Break up the robots so they can’t be repaired anytime soon.”
“Break up McGoon?”
“And McGurk.”
Giordino looked pained, but he took the ax and smashed it into McGoon. “I feel like Dorothy trashing the Tin Man from Oz.”
Mancuso shook Pitt’s hand. “You saved our asses. Thank you.”
“A nice bit of swordplay,” said Weatherhill. “Where’d you learn it?”
“That will have to wait,” Pitt said impatiently. “What’s Penner’s grandiose scheme for our rescue?”
“You don’t know?”
“Penner didn’t deem us worthy of his confidence.”
Mancuso looked at him and shook his head. “There is no plan for a rescue mission,” he said with an embarrassed expression. “Originally we were to be evacuated by submarine, but Penner ruled that out as too risky for the sub and its crew after reviewing a satellite photo of Suma’s sea defenses. Stacy, Tim, and I were to make our way back through the tunnel to Edo City and escape to our embassy in Tokyo.”
Pitt nodded at Giordino. “And the two of us?”
“The State Department was alerted to negotiate with Suma and the Japanese government for your release.”
“The State Department?” Giordino moaned between chops. “I’d sooner be represented by Monty Python’s Flying Circus.”
“Jordan and Kern didn’t take into account Suma and Kamatori’s nasty dispositions,” said Mancuso cynically.
Pitt’s mouth tightened in a hard bitter line. “You people are the experts. What’s the next move?”
“Finish the job as planned and hot-foot it through the tunnel,” answered Weatherhill as Stacy opened the lock and his chains fell away.
“You still aim to destroy the Dragon Center?”
“Not completely, but we can put a dent in it.”
“With what?” inquired Giordino. “A homemade magnet and an axe?”
“No sweat,” Weatherhill replied airily, massaging his wrists. “Suma’s security forces may have taken our explosives kit during our capture and subsequent search, but we still have enough for a minor bang.” He sat down and pulled off his shoes, prying off the soles and incredibly kneading them into a ball. “C-Eight plastic,” he said proudly. “The very latest in explosives for the discriminating spook.”
“And the detonators are in the heels,” muttered Pitt.
“How’d you know?”
“Positive thinking.”
“Let’s move out,” said Mancuso. “The robot’s controllers and Kamatori’s human pals will wonder why his private hunt has been shut down and come running to investigate.”
Stacy stepped to the door leading outside Kamatori’s personal quarters, opened it slightly, and peered around the garden outside. “Our first hurdle is to find the building with the elevator to the underground center. We were led up here from our cells blindfolded and didn’t get a feel for its exact location.”
“I’ll lead you to it,” said Pitt.
“You know the location?”
“I should. I rode it down to the hospital.”
“Your magnet won’t be of much help if we run into a squad of robots,” Mancuso said grimly.
“Then we’ll have to expand our bag of tricks,” said Pitt. He moved over beside Stacy and looked through the cracked door. “There’s a garden hose just under that bush to your left. See it?”
Stacy nodded. “Beside the terrace.”
He gestured at the katana she still held in her hand. “Sneak out and slice off a few feet.”
She stared at him quizzically. “May I ask why?”
“Cut up the hose in short lengths, rub one against a piece of silk, and you strip out the negative electrons,” Pitt explained. “Then touch the end of the hose against a robot’s integrated circuits, making the electrons jump and destroy the delicate components.”
“An electrostatic discharge,” murmured Weatherhill thoughtfully. “Is that it?”
Pitt nodded. “You could do the same thing by rubbing a cat or dragging your feet across a carpet.”
